I love everything about Christmas. I was one of the lucky ones who had parents who made it into a big deal. My dad would do the lights and they were always perfect. My mother made custom strings out of the old fashioned big bulb variety by using only red, green, and yellow, in that order. All other colors were deleted, so the overall effect was that our very symmetric house with a central path to the front door, looked like a gingerbread house. The bay windows in the living room were the perfect stage for our perfect tree. It was glorious.
Now our tree was another matter. This was long before artificial trees started looking so life- like, so of course we had a real one. This was one of my favorite parts of Christmas, the tree hunt. The standard lots never had the quality of tree that my mother demanded, so we went downtown to the train yards where the trees came in from Oregon. There were wholesale lots with bigger trees than most homes can accommodate. If we didn't find one that was perfect from every angle that was already on a stand, my dad would hop into the train car and start picking up trees and twirling them around for my mother's inspection. It was such an adventure. I loved the smells... the pines, the sawdust on the ground, hot chocolate from the food vendors. I think about those days every year when I unpack my pre-lit Scotch Pine and put section A into B and both into C. It's not the same, but it is so much easier and my tree looks great.
On Christmas Eve, my dad would call us outside to see the blinking red lights in the sky and told us that it was Santa. He had a way of making us believe that Santa Claus was circling around our town just waiting for us to go to bed. Little did we kids know that it was just small aircraft viewing the Christmas displays from the air. We left cookies and milk, and carrots for the reindeer, and went to bed earlier than usual. I remember so distinctly hearing him on the roof. Big footsteps and the sound of bells above my head were so thrilling. God bless my daddy for climbing up the ladder and stomping on the roof and ringing those bells. I always pretended to be asleep when my parents came in around midnight and told us that they were pretty sure Santa Claus had been there. I was usually a little nervous on my way down the hall to the living room. Had I been good enough? Did Santa know about a few things that nobody else did? Would there be nothing there for me? I was always relieved and delighted to see lots of packages with my name on them. My family always opened our gifts on Christmas Eve as it turned into Christmas morning. It was the best.
I believed in Santa Claus way longer than most children. In grade school, when I would come home and tell my mom that some kid told me that there was no such thing as Santa, my mom would say that Santa doesn't come to those who don't believe in him. From then on I didn't mention it much in the play yard. I had a good thing going with Old Saint Nick, because I BELIEVED. When I graduated the 6th grade and was going into junior high, my parents thought it best to tell me the truth about Santa. It was one of the worst days of my life. I cried my eyes out. My mother held me close and told me that believing in Santa when you are growing up is the second most wonderful thing that can happen at Christmas. Second most wonderful? What is the first I asked? It was then that she told me that one day when I grow up and have children of my own, I will then make Santa come alive for them. She was right. That is the absolute best.
The traditions that families create at holidays mean so much as you travel through life. But what about the people who didn't have any of what you and I had? There are so many folks who really don't like the holidays at all. It is painful for them. They think it's all a lot of hooey and over-indulgence. I really believe that it is up to those of us who understand and adore the spirit of whatever holiday you celebrate to pass that along and try to impart some joy. Let's get this hooey and over-indulgence party started!
You can tell these Bah Humbug people from a mile away. They are the first to mention with disdain when the Christmas decorations go on sale in August. They grouse about the gross capitalization aspect of Christmas. They shy away from Secret Santa exchanges at the office and you'll never catch one of them listening to the 24/7 Christmas music station. They came from a different reality and I think it is our responsibility as people who love the holidays to do something about it. This can't be done overnight, but in little, baby-elf steps.
I am going to propose that each of us do one random act of holiday kindness for a Bah Humbugger. It doesn't matter if it's big or small, just start the healing. They hate the holidays because they didn't grow up like we did. They were left out and did without while the world was aglow with Christmas magic. There are lots of great groups out there collecting toys for underprivileged children. It is easy to buy a toy for a child who might not be getting anything. I do that too and so should you if you can. But it's not so easy to hand out a sweet dose of Christmas Spirit to someone who is a sourpuss because it's December. Find someone who wears being a Bah Humbugger like a badge of honor and wear them down with a kind offering. A small gift, something you baked, a bone for their dog, an invitation to dinner... anything that sends the warmth of holiday cheer.
Ok, I will let you go now. There's a lot to do this week. Get those cookies baked, packages wrapped and enjoy this amazing season. And in all the last minute madness, please find the time show some love to someone with a case of the Bah Humbugs.
